


A dance, Senator?

by Gabriel4Sam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Happy, Clothed Sex, F/M, Fix-It, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel4Sam/pseuds/Gabriel4Sam
Summary: It has been too many months since they saw each other and Mon desires her Jedi lover so much. So much this party seems unbearable but Master Kenobi will not let that stop him.





	A dance, Senator?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wrennette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/gifts).



It’s a perfect party. Delicacies from every world of the Republic. More liquors that people could taste in all their life without risks of liver failure. Senators, ambassadors, celebrities, old tycoons and their trophy spouses, media moguls and their courts. This is the perfect place for lobbying, for pushing for private interest or for important reforms. Tonight, they’re celebrating the entry in the Republic of a new system, Bealericeraga, two inhabited planets and three moons, at the other end of the Outer Rim, and the ambassador, a tall sentient with purple skin stripped in white and so much feathers all Senators have come with antihistamines, is piloted across the party by Master Windu.

This is the perfect place for politics and the truth is that Mon Mothma is utterly bored.

Since the brutal death of Chancellor Palpatine from an undetected heart condition, since the end of the whispers of war, the life of a politician is pretty regular. Yes, there are still important political fights, vital reforms and key bills to make the galaxy a better place, but it lost the edge that it had just before, when those who had called themselves the Separatist threatened to put the galaxy on fire. After the death of Palpatine, the Separatist had offered a ceasefire during the time of the negotiations, and the term is not innocuous as the negotiations were most aggressive, to let the Republic mourn. That should have only lasted a month but it was extended again and again, and the galaxy is now at peace.

And Mon is bored.

She loves peace, of course. She does her job in the political arena with great care, she fights to better the Republic, her home planet, to protect both her constituents, and those who aren’t… she is the most important politician from Chandrila on Coruscant and those last years have been one meeting after the other, one important vote after the other.

But, considerations aside, Mon is still bored!

There is a movement at the end of the room, people turning their head. Chancellor Organa is there, her husband on her arm, the two of them regal in purple, and right on her left, the special envoy and advisor from the Jedi Temple, Master Kenobi.

Everybody knows the Jedi is probably Mace Windu’s successor, as the Korrun is decided to step down from his position to take a new Padawan. One year, perhaps two, and the people searching for Master Kenobi’s attention are well aware of it.

Mon has dressed with a particular care tonight. A sleeveless black dress, adorned with embroided blue flowers the exact blue of her eyes… She’s a beautiful woman but she rarely desire to make it evident.

But tonight is different, because Master Kenobi has been her lover for almost a year and absent on the negotiations on Bealericeraga for the Chancellor for four months. It’s impossible to make it public, of course, and when her turn come to salute the three of them, she offers the exact same bow as the Senator before her, the exact same bow as the Rodian poet after her will.

“It pleases me to see you tonight, when we celebrate the success of Master Kenobi and the negotiations” the Chancellor says with a smile quivering at the side of her mouth. Not a lot of things escape this woman and despite herself, Mon gives her a more sincere smile that she would have done for anyone else. Breha Organa is a woman easy to love.

“Perhaps you could help our friend escape the well-wishers in opening the ball with him?” she continues and Bail Organa, the bastard, hide a laugh in a cough. Mon is sure she’s blushing but she bows again and when Master Kenobi offers his arm, she takes it.

“Is the Chancellor of the damn Republic playing matchmaker?” she whispers.

“More taking any chance to escape having to open the damn thing herself,” he answers, pressing her hand and she shivers. It has been too long. She yearns for him and they have hours to wait, before she can escape and more long until he can. She wants to tear his clothes of him, she wants to ride him on the speeder on the way to her apartment, and again in the hall, and to feel his entire body pressing her into her mattress.

“Patience,” he whispers again and she has to bite her lips to stop a groan. She understands how it can frighten people, the way Jedi pick stray thoughts sometime, especially when they are touching people, the way they can read those they know well, but it isn’t her case. For lovers ready to accept them as they are, Jedi, Force Sensitive, different, nothing, no one could compare to a Jedi lover, from the control on their bodies, to the things they can do with the Force. Passing out from pleasure has become a common occurrence for Mon and she’s not sure she will ever find another being satisfying again, even if sex is the only thing they can offer each other. Obi-Wan married the Force a long time ago.

It’s no coincidence Mon had chosen tonight a dress letting so much of her skin available. She wants contact. She wants Obi-Wan to fell how much she desires him and just to see, she tries to concentrate on an image, the last time they saw each other, the day before his departure. He had visited her in her office in the Senate and fucked her on her desk, bend on the hard surface, Mon biting her fist to be sure her assistant wouldn’t hear her moans, and then rolled her over her back and licked his sperm out of her until she couldn’t tell how many orgasms he had punched out of her.

He grinned. He had saw that, she was sure, and she felt warmth flare in her belly. He guided her on the floor, her steps more automatic than anything, but he was a good enough dancer to correct every mistake she could make.

“How was your stay on our new allies planet?” she asks, because if she don’t stop thinking about sex, her underwear will be ruined. He grins again, the same toothy smile he had in bed before making her yell, and he leans down a little to answer

“Too long, my lady. Every night spent fucking my fist and thinking of the things I wanted to do to you.”

“You bastard,” she half-laughs.

“You’re the one who started it,” he remarks and she grips his hand a little more, doing her best to picture in her mind that time they fucked against one of her window, how warm he was behind her, how hard he was inside her, how the contrast of the cold glass was perfect, and the thrill of the risks, of being seen… He had made her come three times that day before losing control and coming. She can see his pupils, larger, hungry, as they were that day in the reflection of the glass.

Hours, hours to wait. She wants him so much it’s almost unbearable.

“Do you trust me, Mon?”

“Of course.”

Other couples have joined them on the floor, they aren’t the focal point of view anymore.

“Closer,” he says, “let more of your weight on me. Tell me to stop and I will.” His fingertips graze her shoulder and her breath hitches as some warmth curls inside her. There is no words for that sensation. It rises slowly, steadily and she is sure her cheeks are on fire, but she doesn’t care. She is holding on him for dear life and she can feel herself growing wetter, her sex throbbing. There is some phantom contact against her clit, persistent, warm, and an impression of delicious fullness inside her. It isn’t like when he takes her, it’s there and not there, and her entire universe shrinks down to the sensation and to his blue eyes.

“Just like that,” he encourages and that sensation grows, moves, like a tide inside her sex, higher, higher, fuller every second, her nipples are almost painful against her dress. She concentrates on that time they played with nipple clamps, like a demand, and the sensation grows there too.

Obi-Wans has very good timing: the music is growing, this particular piece quite noisy, and it covers her half-panting. Effortlessly, he holds her upright, making them spin as he wrecks her and Mon finally surrenders in a great wave, biting her lips almost to the break point. He dips her in the final movement of the musical piece, to help hide her state, and she feel grateful, and safe, so safe in his arms, even when he just made her orgasm in public.

She lets him guide her to a seat, her knees weak, and he fetches her something sugary from a passing droid.

“Drink,” he smiles, and his cheeks aren’t even red, the bastard.

“You realize I will take that as a challenge later,” she smiles, her heart still beating like crazy, and she wants to wreck him for that smug smile he gives her in return. Definitely the nipple clamps tonight. On him. Their effect is even greater than on her.

He kisses her hand, just a second too long, pressing her in an almost convulsive movement, the first sign he isn’t as unaffected as he pretends, then he winks, and disappears in the crowd.

She can’t wait for the end of that party.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr too, under the same username, come and say hi!


End file.
